


Neutral Territory Between Us

by grimcognito



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Cross-Faction Romance, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-07 05:39:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1116169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimcognito/pseuds/grimcognito
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Fate decides some things shouldn't stay secret. Such as a perfect Alliance soldier and her secret affair with a brazen Troll shaman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Over Her Head

Salaar planted her totem in the ground, ignoring the scrapes the rough wood left against her hand from the force she’d used. No time to think about such minor things when she was seconds away from being eaten alive by some damned alien bugs. The quest she’d taken on had sounded simple enough, just retrieving a relic from a ruined temple. Nothing too difficult, really. She should have known something was off when no other questers had taken on the task. Instead, in her arrogance, she’d happily strolled right into this mess.

_Nobody told me dem crystals fucked everyt’ing ta hell and back._

She gasped as one slashed across her back and dropped to her knees. Punching the ground, she released a wave of raw magic, blasting the creatures back so she could catch her breath for one spirit blessed second. The crystal-fucked beasts were fast and skittered over their dead to get back at her. 

Gritting her teeth, Salaar struggled back to her feet, blood dripping from her wounds to the burnt and scarred ground. She’d killed dozens of the things, but more just kept crawling from their burrows to take a turn at her. It had been almost amusing at first, with the sun shining brightly through the leaves, they’d seemed so weak and she’d taken the first few waves with ease, fighting her way to the center of the ruins. Even grabbing the relic had been a simple feat of digging the dusty old tome from under some roots and tucking it away in her bag. 

The trouble was getting back out, because while the area around the relic had been magically protected from malicious creatures, as soon as she’d pulled it from the altar, the shield dropped. That was the moment she realized just how many of the beasts had gathered around her.   
Now, hours later, darkness had seeped across the sky and she couldn’t focus on anything other than the stench of scorched and burned bodies, the skitter of sharp spider-like legs over armored corpses, and the pain that refused to be ignored. She was running low on energy, not much left for spells—not much left for standing, if she was honest. 

Crushing one under her staff, she tried to chant, only to choke as she coughed up blood. Wounds tore open wider as she gave up on casting and just swung her staff, hoping she’d hit the right target as her vision went double. 

They were crawling up her legs, stabbing her with their gods-be-damned sharp talons. Fangs sank into her flesh and she screamed as they began to eat her alive. Dropping her staff, she tore them from her body with her bare hands, crushing their heads or bodies in her fists before tearing at the next. 

_T’ain’t enough. What a way ta go, eaten by a swarm a’ damned space rats._

Stumbling, she ripped them from herself as fast as she could, but there were too many, all clawing their way up her body and taking chunks with them as they went. Unable to keep her balance, she fell; taking a tiny bit of malicious pleasure in the fact that she crushed a few on her landing. She might die here tonight, but she’d leave a hell of a mess going down. 

She swung a fist at one clamped to her stomach but it was gone before she could hit it. She’d have been confused if she weren’t too busy fending off the next one trying to attach itself to her face. That one vanished too, in a messy burst of guts and shell, and Salaar could only gasp for air and pray it wasn’t some strange hallucination that the beasts were being torn from her body. 

She lay still for a heartbeat, unable to comprehend what was happening, until her brain kicked back in and she managed to tongue-stumble her way through a healing spell. There wasn’t enough mana left in her system to close her larger wounds, but they stopped bleeding and stung with that itchy feeling that meant they were starting to mend. It took no longer than a moment to complete, and she rolled to her side, determined to punch out the next crystal-shitting space mutant right in its ugly mug. 

What she saw instead was a furious worgen standing over her, huge sword in one hand slicing though the beasts as she used her free hand to claw any who managed to get closer to shreds. Delirious, Salaar laughed. This had to be a dream, she must already be dead, or very close to it, because there was no way she’d be seeing Valzir right now. Her uptight, Alliance, by-the-book, sometimes-lover shouldn’t be anywhere near here. Last Salaar had heard, Valzir was cleaving a path through the Stonetalon Mountains single-handedly.

Valzir spared her a glance, looking slightly concerned by the laughter before she was distracted with killing things again. Salaar didn’t have the energy to do much other than pat Valzir’s leg with an idiotic smile on her face, watching through blurred vision as Valzir skewered the last beast on her sword. There would be another wave soon, Salaar knew the timing all too well now; just long enough to realize she was screwed but not long enough to cast a spell that would help her escape. 

A large, clawed hand gripped what was left of her vest and hauled her up, up and over a shoulder. Salaar grunted as her aching stomach made contact, but managed to keep from vomiting or blacking out. It did keep her from making any kind of smart comment, though, which was sad, because opportunities like this just didn’t happen very often. 

A rough voice growled from the general area of her hip. “Hold on, Salaar.” It was almost enough to make her laugh again. She was barely holding on to consciousness, her physical grip would be weak as a newborn’s, but she did her best to curl her fingers against Valzir’s cloak as Valzir dropped onto all fours—threes really, as she was holding Salaar’s legs close with one hand—and began to run. 

Valzir’s pace ate up the distance and the beasts didn’t stand a chance of catching up to her. Salaar worked up just enough energy to make the rudest gesture she could with one hand at them as they shrank into the distance.

The rest of the trip was a blur of pain and exhaustion warring at each other for her attention. Pain was winning until a rough lurch that ground Valzir’s shoulder into one of her deeper wounds finally knocked her out. 

……………………

The first thing Salaar became aware of was Valzir’s familiar growling voice. She sounded like she was threatening someone, but there was no clash of steel, or static-y feel of mana being gathered for a spell, so Salaar chose to simply lay there of a moment and take stock of her injuries.  
Surprisingly, she wasn’t nearly as bad off as she’d expected. She ached where the deeper wounds had been, but the skin felt whole. Her wounds had been healed, and expertly, as there was no tightness of new scars or tug of rough stitching. Apart from the comparatively mild aches, her mana was still alarmingly low, but she had some spare potions for that, as long as she hadn’t lost them in the fight. 

Dragging her eyelids open was more of a chore than she’d hoped it would be, but she wasn’t dead, so there wasn’t much she could truly complain about. Kneeling next to her cot was a healer, and Salaar groaned as soon as she saw the large symbol garishly decorating the young man’s sky blue tabard. 

_I take it back, dere’s sumt’ing to complain about._

Alliance. 

She was in sun-blasted _Alliance_ territory.


	2. Out of the Pan and Into the Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valzir must deal with the consequences of her actions.

What in hellfire and holy light was she doing? Valzir sure as justice didn’t know. She was Alliance, she knew her place, and that place did not include assisting their enemies. That most assuredly did not include having relations, much less intimate relations, with their enemies. 

The first night—the blurry memory of a tavern in neutral territory—she could explain away. Too many tankards of deceptively sweet drink, the kind that wiped the mind of reason and sense. It wasn’t something one bragged about, but it wasn’t a crime, either. The next time, however, was not so easy to excuse. The same tavern, the same sweet rum—much less this time—the same roguish grin and knowing look. Every visit after that, more than she’d ever admit to, those couldn’t be mistaken for anything but what they were. Desire. Comfort. Maybe something more. All for a troll. One infuriatingly brash, clever, rulebook-burning, beautiful troll. 

And it had all been Valzir’s well-kept secret. Until now. Until she saw Salaar waging an impossible war against a whole damned hive of ravagers; already surrounded by corpses and clearly low on mana. Valzir hadn’t even thought before she’d forced her griffon into a dive, leaping off almost before it completely touched down and not sparing it a second thought as the well-trained mount took back to the skies. 

A fear-driven fury had taken over when she saw Salaar fall, covered in corrupted ravagers and being eaten alive The next thing she knew, she was barreling through them, sword and claws slashing wildly until she managed to uncover Salaar. 

Now, here she was, in the middle of an Alliance garrison, claws out and growling at the young priest she’d kindly greeted not two days ago, as he healed the one member of the Horde ever to have been carried into these walls alive. And it was up to Valzir to make sure she left alive as well. 

The other soldiers were gathered just outside of the tent, weapons drawn and a hair’s breadth away from attacking the enemy in their fold. Even so, despite Valzir’s remarkable reputation, or perhaps because of it, none were willing to chance getting close to an angry worgen. 

Worgen had made major advances in being more accepted as humane creatures, and Valzir hated to rely on prejudices that would set them back, but it was the only way to keep Salaar safe at the moment. Clearly, her senses had taken their leave and had no intention of returning. She’d be lucky to avoid execution at this rate, if not for protecting and fraternizing with the enemy, then for being a threat to the general public.

Salaar groaned and shifted before going still, awake but taking stock of her surroundings. Too bad she wasn’t aware of how much she moved while sleeping, she gave herself away by becoming too still. The priest, Lormir, she believed his name was, swallowed hard and looked ready to flee. Valzir growled and he darted his eyes back to her, quickly finishing off his last spell and sitting back against his heels, watching them both warily.

A moment later, Salaar opened her eyes, looked at the priest, who stared back a bit wild-eyed, and let out a string of curses. Valzir only managed to understand about half of them, but it was more than enough. “Calm, Salaar. I will not let you come to harm here.” 

Salaar sat up, gingerly poked at the areas where her wounds had been and grimaced at the ruined, blood-stained cloth. “Can ya guarantee dat?”

They both ignored Lormir, who watched, mouth agape, as Salaar spoke in accented Common. Valzir growled, low in her throat, because she truly couldn’t guarantee anything, her own safety was at risk, as well as Salaar’s. But some idiotic part of her refused to accept failure. “I _will_ get you out of here.”

Salaar leveled her with a hard stare, then shook her head with a heavy sigh. “I believe dat, jus’ not sure if I’ll still be breathin’ when it happens. Where’s mah bag?” 

Lorimir cleared his throat and gestured at the large bag resting against the foot of the cot. Salaar eyed him for a second, then grunted at whatever mental assessment she’d made of him. She startled him when she snatched the bag up and dug around inside, pulling out a few mismatched garments. After giving them a quick sniff, she shrugged and unceremoniously yanked her ruined vest off. 

A choking noise came from Lormir. Valzir couldn’t blame him, her growl had died out halfway from her throat and she had to force her eyes away from all the skin Salaar bared as she quickly stripped and redressed. Once her clothes were in order, the ruined ones left in a heap to be disposed of, Salaar pulled a worn leather pouch from within her bag and untied the string. What sounded like glass clinked together inside, and Salaar plucked out a small vial of blue liquid. Mana restoring potion. Valzir recognized it, though she had no need to carry any herself, as she had no magical potential. 

Salaar pulled the cork and swallowed the liquid in one go, wrinkling her nose at the taste before shivering as it took effect. “Dat’s it, jus’ what I needed.” She placed the re-corked vial back in the bag to be refilled, tied the pouch, and tucked everything away. In short order, she slipped the single strap over her shoulder and across her chest so her hands would be free for spell-casting. Her staff had been lost in the fight Valzir had interrupted, but it would be simple enough for her to find a new one. 

Lormir shifted uncomfortably, drawing Valzir’s attention to him. “Go and inform the Captain that I will speak with him to discuss the terms of departure.” 

Lorimir scrambled to his feet and escaped from the tent before she’d finished speaking, out to where Valzir could hear him exchanging muffled words with Captain Drommer. Heavy footsteps and the clank of armor were her only warning before the tent flaps were roughly drawn apart to reveal the captain. He was a big man, almost as tall as Valzir in her more monstrous form and broad in the chest and shoulders. 

He’d beckoned Valzir into his little claim of land half a fortnight ago with open arms. Now, it was clear he’d not be so welcoming again. His eyes were flinty and unyielding, one hand wrapped around the hilt of his broadsword, the other clenched into a fist. Valzir moved a step to the side to block Salaar from the captain’s glare. “Captain, my deepest apologies that it had to come to this.” 

“What in the name of the Holy Light has gotten into you? A soldier a fine as yourself, fraternizing with her kind! Preposterous is what it is. An insult to everything the Alliance stands for!” 

Salaar sneered at the insult, but thankfully refrained from commenting. Valzir did her best not to snarl her words. “I admit that it’s unusual, but not every Horde is a mindless monster. Do we not have neutral lands for a reason? The Alliance stands for justice, for the glory of the Light, for keeping the lands untainted, and I have always fought for those ideals. Is it not possible for a troll to feel the same, to fight for the same reasons?” 

“Fool. The foul sorceress has bewitched your mind. I will honor my word and stay my blade from killing the wench, but you will take your leave, and you will not return.” 

Valzir sketched a small bow, grateful that Captain Drommer was a more honorable man than most. The banishment hurt, and there was no telling who he might send word to; where else she may no longer be welcome. But, for the moment it mattered not, because she and Salaar would be safe to leave. “And your men? Do I have their words as well?” 

The Captain scowled. “Yes, you and your Horde wench will be safe to walk through the gates, but if you so much as look back, our deal is broken.” 

Valzir shouldered her own pack and nodded. She would keep her sword in hand, for however much she trusted the captain’s word, she wasn’t so sure about the rest of the soldiers, too many of which had lost loved ones to the hands of the Horde. “You have my thanks, Captain. May the Light’s blessing be upon you.” 

“Keep your blessings and take your leave.” The captain left as abruptly as he had arrived, and Valzir took a deep breath, braced herself, and holding to Salaar’s elbow, left the safety of the tent. Soldiers were gathered around them, one clear path led to the gates, and while no weapons were drawn, all hands were resting on hilts or twitching with the urge to cast a spell. Valzir moved quickly, glad for Salaar’s tall form and long legs, easily keeping pace with her. 

They passed through the gates and kept on, not slowing until the road was lined by thick forest and the garrison was no longer in sight. Realizing she’d never released her hold on Salaar, she slipped her hand away, skimming down Salaar’s arm to brush their fingers together before completely pulling away. She couldn’t truly regret what she’d done, but for the first time since she be bitten and infected with her curse, Valzir was adrift, unsure of where she should go from here. 

They walked in silence, both occupied with their own thoughts, until Salaar’s stomach gurgled demandingly and she grinned at Valzir. “Up ta do some huntin’? I’ll cook if ya catch me somet’ing.” 

Valzir grinned wolfishly in return. It was a good deal, Salaar cooked well, but tended to experiment with questionable ingredients—such as the memorable incident with ooze monsters—while Valzir was a terrible cook, but could catch and skin a rabbit quick as the shake of a lamb’s tail. It was a simple way to focus on the here and now; a solid, if slightly short-sighted plan. 

Valzir liked having plans, and she could do this tonight. She and Salaar could pretend that lines didn’t matter, that things were simple, just for tonight. Tomorrow, she will head toward the sea, and hopefully catch a boat to meet with the troops overseas. Salaar would take her leave as well, onto her own journey, until they met again. Just as they always did.


End file.
